


The Cure For Madness

by Vivian_Laufeyson



Series: Innocence Lost [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Anger, Assassination Plot(s), Betrayal, Blood, Blood and Injury, Choices, Crying, Dark Brotherhood - Freeform, Death, Dying Cicero, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Insanity, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Magic, One Shot, Skyrim - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-26
Updated: 2015-04-26
Packaged: 2018-03-25 22:31:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3827362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vivian_Laufeyson/pseuds/Vivian_Laufeyson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chrysette Morik, Dragonborn, mage, assassin. </p>
<p>After Cicero snaps and attacks the Dark Brotherhood's leader, Astrid, the young Breton assassin is sent to kill the jester. Her resolute is strong, and her beliefs stronger, and she is prepared to do what is necessary to save her family. But what does that really entail? Does it truly mean murdering the Fool of Hearts, the Night Mother's Keeper?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Cure For Madness

**Author's Note:**

> I got inspiration for this after playing this quest myself. Chrysette is based off of my Dovahkiin, although more suited to story form.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this!
> 
> Kudos and comments are love, and love equals cheesecake!

I was on my bed in the Sanctuary. It was harder than I would've liked, and the covers were itchy, but for some reason, I couldn't bear to replace them, though I was more than likely richer than the Emperor himself. The covers smelled, and they were covered in blood stains from where I'd lain in them without washing my clothing after a contract. But I guess that's why I hung onto them. Sentimentality would be the end of me, and I knew it. One of these days my soft side would come out in the middle of a job, and that'd be the end of my life with the Brotherhood. In fact, it'd more than likely be the end of my life, period.  
Not that I thought many people would miss me. Yes, people would miss their Dovahkiin who saved them from the dragons, and never left a person in need when she could help it, but anyone truly miss me, Chrysette Morik, the young Breton girl? No. There wouldn't be a soul outside of the Brotherhood.

My sentimentality is what kept me held to this bed, rather than filling out my newest orders from Astrid, our loving leader of what was the last remaining Sanctuary of the Dark Brotherhood. All others fell. We were the last, our small group, and our numbers had recently decreased. Our Night Mother's Keeper, Cicero, came to our sanctuary only a few months ago, and since then had made friends and enemies here, thereby dividing our Sanctuary.  
In that time, the Night Mother chose to speak to me, telling me the sacred binding words to speak to Her Keeper to affirm my recent position as Listener, “Darkness rises when silence dies”. I alone now hear Mother's voice, much to Astrid's chagrin, and she will not allow me to do a thing about it.

As a result of the divide in our Sanctuary, though we were all loyal to Astrid, some had questioned her methods, wishing to return to the old ways, and the old Tenets, but she claimed that the age of the Tenets were dead, that it was time to move on, and she had never been more wrong.  
Because of her beliefs for this Sanctuary, Cicero attacked Astrid in a wild attempt to kill her, and if he had been more discreet about it, he would've succeeded, but in the middle of the Sanctuary he made his move, and the loyal Argonian Veezara saved her, stepping in the way, allowing the jester to injure him in the process. Cicero, dismayed at his failure, and fearing the result if he stayed, fled.

Now Astrid had her own price on Cicero's head, and decided that I should be the one to carry out her orders. Cicero and I had grown close to each other, and I was the only one that seemed to pay him any attention that was not directed either out of pity or anger, for the man was truly insane, and it only seemed to evoke one, if not both of the emotions out of those who encountered him. One more thing that set me apart from most, I supposed.

But now that time came to an end, and I had a choice to make that was best decided before I reached what was left of the fallen Dawnstar Sanctuary. I could either kill Cicero, and obey Astrid, earning back her trust and proving what shreds of loyalty I had left for her, or I could spare him, revealing which side I had truly chosen in this battle. The latter did not seem wise, though it hurt keeping the secret from the family.  
The Night Mother had regaled me with tales of the Brotherhood when it was at it's glorious height, when the Listener was at the top of the Black Hand, and the Speakers carried out his word. It all worked like a well oiled Dwemer machine, moving seamlessly from one job to the next, and stories of the Brotherhood would be told to scare children into obedience. Adults lived in fear, watching their backs, keeping in good standings in everybody for fear of the Black Sacrament, and praying daily that it would not be preformed against them, while there were those that openly hailed Sithis, smiting their enemies through the Night Mother's gracious children. But those days were over, and the Tenets which guided them were abandoned. But I wished to bring them back, and a foolish hope still lived that perhaps I could bring it back, though I may never see it fulfilled. 

Making my choice, I stood from the bed, and grabbed what was necessary. The Shrouded Armour fit like a glove, tight against my skin, but comfortable, and easy to function in. It was quiet, the oiled, smooth leather creating nearly no sound as I moved. I picked up my bow, as well as several quivers of arrows, as there was no doubt that I'd need them, and after a quick test to insure that I still knew how to summon my flames, I set out.

Shadowmere awaited me outside of the Black Door, as Astrid said she would. She was a gift, allowing me to travel faster, but I declined, instead sending the Daedric horse ahead of me.

I walked for days, occasionally walking with the Khajiit traders that were walking in the same direction. They didn't mind my company, though they knew what I was, and considered me no more than extra protection for their merchant's group. I had stopped in Whiterun, resupplying myself, the rations I had taken from the Sanctuary low, and my quiver nearly empty from the recent dragon attack. I wasn't tired, quite the opposite, I was buzzing with energy, as the dragon's soul put up it's fight inside of me, refusing to be fully captured. As it rushed, I did, although I knew that soon enough it would settle down, resigning to its fate.

Two weeks had passed since I left the Sanctuary, finally approaching Dawnstar. I was there, and all I had to do was find the door. I knew it wouldn't be in the city, they wouldn't risk others finding it by mistake, and I walked to the small mountain range behind the city. That was likely where it was, most Sanctuaries either underground, or carved into rock, and this was no exception.

Shadowmere had arrived there before me, as I suspected she might, as I ran as I saw Arnbjorn, Astrid's husband, injured outside the door.

A moment of shock took me, and when he looked up and growled at me I let out a breath I wasn't aware I was holding until it was gone. He was alive, at least for now, but if I didn't move into action, he would be much longer. I raised my hands in a placating gesture, realizing that he was a werewolf, and one that was on edge. A wrong move would spell my early death.

I got down on my knees next to Arnbjorn, my hands still in the air. My voice was lowered, and soft, meant to calm him, and by all accounts it seemed to have worked, and if he was at all offended by the gesture, he didn't show it.

“Astrid sent me. You really worried her, you know, running after Cicero. She wanted me to make sure you weren't dead, and to send you home. But it looks like you're lucky I got here when I did. Arnbjorn, what happened?”

“That Jester! We got a few blows at each other and then he slipped through the door!”

I sighed, and nodded. Honestly, I should've been able to guess, as there isn't much out here that could've made a wound like this. I put a hand on his shoulder.

“I need you to stay still.”

“It's not like I'm going anywhere.”

“You will be in a few minutes, but not like this.”

I dressed his wounds the best that I could, hoping not to injure the Nord farther than he already was. We already knew Cicero was dangerous, we all were. You couldn't very well get into the Dark Brotherhood without that particular trait, and Cicero had just proven himself once again while trying, and almost succeeding to kill Astrid.  
What made him think that chasing, cornering, and attacking the Fool of Hearts would be a wise decision?  
Wolfish instinct, I supposed. It would be hard to contain if it was anything like my Dragon's spirit, which got me into more trouble than I cared to admit.

After dressing what I could, I closed my eyes in concentration, my hands hovering over Arnbjorn, and when I opened them, he just stared at me quizzically.

“By the Nine, woman, what are you doing?”

“Trying to save your life, be quiet. I'm not good at this. I usually stick to destruction, conjuration, and alteration. Any healing I do is with potions, but I'm out of those, okay?”

He scoffed, then quieted as I requested. Staring at the newly dressed wound, I concentrated hard, a bright, golden light appearing under my hands. It was working!  
A rare smile broke onto his face, the warmth of the spell keeping away a fraction of the bitterly cold wind.

When my hands pulled away from his side, it was no longer bleeding out, though the wound would need more time to heal. He would, however, survive.

“I think you'll make it now. Arnbjorn, please, go back to Astrid. She's worrying herself to death, and I don't think Sithis is quite ready for her soul yet.”

“Can you take care of the clown?”

I nodded somberly, and looked away.  
“Take Shadowmere. She's faster than any mortal horse. I'll...I'll deal with Cicero.”

He struggled onto the mare, and was quickly out of sight. I walked up to the door that guarded what was left of the Dawnstar Sanctuary and took a deep breath. My hands were shaking as the door asked me it's question.

“What is life's greatest illusion?”

My voice shook as badly as my hands as I answered with the passphrase, “Innocence, my brother.”, and the Black Door opened wide.

x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x

 

I was approached by many Sanctuary Guardians as I walked through the door, the angry souls of slain brothers and sisters that lived in this Sanctuary. There were so many of them, none of them happy, and I look away as I lay their souls to rest for a final time.

I heard Cicero's voice not long into the corridor, the sound of it, despite his words, brought a rush of feelings, and suddenly, my loyalty wavered, and I was no longer sure if I could fulfill my intentions.

“Listener? Is that YOU!? Oh, I knew you'd come! Send the best to defeat the best!” He laughed roughly, and flinched. I could hear it, he was injured, although, if he could still yell, he couldn't be that bad. He tried to continue. “Astrid knew that stupid wold couldn't slay-” He was cut off by a groan of pain, and I began to hurry. 

The further I made it through the Sanctuary, the more he talked to me, and it hurt hearing him. He was utterly convinced I was there to kill him, and while I was, I wasn't sure whether I'd actually be able to accomplish my goal. 

I was past most of the guardians, which I was glad for, and I had made it past the Frost Troll Udefrykte, the beast slain, and it's corpse joined the rest of its victims. Pausing for only a moment, Cicero's voice rang once again through the halls, but more panicked than the last time he had spoken.

“You're still alive! Cicero respects the Listener's abilities of course, but...could you at least slow down a bit? I'm not what I used to be. If it's any comfort, I do feel slightly bad about Veezara! Stupid lizard got in my way!” His laugh was hoarse, and turned into more coughing than there was laughing, and I continued on, more determined than ever to get to Cicero.

I sliced my way through the rest of the guardians, no longer caring about the blood I spilt with them. My heart raced faster than I'd felt since Helgen, and the dragons' souls inside of me stirred restlessly.  
He continued to yell as I walked, growing more and more panicked the closer I was.

“Alright! Alright! So Cicero attacked that horrid Astrid, but what's a fool to do when his mother is slandered and mocked!” There was a cry of pain and then, “Sure the Listener understands!”

Of course I did, but no amount of yelling reached him. Tears ran down my face as I walked through the last stretch. I saw the final door, and there was what seemed to be a final plea.

“Maybe we can just forget about this, hm? Let bygones be bygones? What do you say?”

Despite his begging, he seemed almost normal. His insanity seemed to disappear, and if only for a short time I got a glimpse of the man he used to be.

x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x

I sat in front of the wooden door, the only thing separating me from the Fool of Hearts, Cicero. I didn't know what would be waiting for me on the other side, whether it be more guardians, or a broken jester.  
He obviously knew I was there, on the other side of the door, and he continued to plead for his life, interrupted only by his own coughs, wheezes, and cries of pain.

I sat there bloodied and bruised, tears falling down my face. I felt the pain from my wounds, but I didn't care. The more Cicero spoke, the harder I cried, knowing I couldn't bring myself to do it. I had failed Astrid, and with that, I failed the Brotherhood. I laid there for another few minutes until I healed myself enough to survive and not bleed with every step.

Finally, Cicero was silent, and I could only assume he had either given up, or he thought I was gone. While I sat there, I thought about my situation. I couldn't just bring myself to kill him. He had grown close to me, and I had hoped that I'd grown close to him. But at the same time, I had a duty to the Dark Brotherhood, and as always, this was a contract bound in blood. I would miss the sweet, darling, Keeper, with his odd dances, and jokes, but I had to- I had promised that would- kill Cicero. With it applied to any odd individual, I wouldn't have cared, but this was different, and I didn't know why.  
I took a deep breath to harden myself. I would do it. I had to do it. I would kill the Fool of Hearts. Yes, kill the fool. As long as I avoided his name, his precious, unique name, I could do it.

I crouched as I snuck up to the door, my bow ready for the arrow that I would put through Cic- no, the Fool's heart. How ironic, the Fool of Hearts to die with an arrow through his own. It seemed almost cruel.

x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x

I opened the door and walked through, barely making it past the threshold when I froze in shock. My hands dropped, the ebony bow clattering to the floor, and I slowly stood from where I was crouched. Cicero laid upon the floor, curled into himself, in a puddle of blood that could only have been his own. His arm was wrapped around a wound in his side, and his colourful outfit was now purely red. I felt fresh, hot tears blur my sight.  
Air no longer came easily to me, my chest heavy. I closed my eyes and looked away, hoping this was only a hallucination, and that the real Cicero was now preparing to kill me. Only his voice brought me back down to reality. Every word of his was strained, and he was frantic, near crying.

“And now we come to the end of our play, the grand finale.” He choked on what I guessed was his own blood, and without realizing it, I had moved, and I was now standing in front of the Keeper. 

My eyes flitted around the scene, looking, desperately hoping that this was a trick, that he was only acting, but in a chance, I glanced down at him, his golden brown eyes meeting my own.  
A single tears slipped down his palid cheek, mixing in with the blood, and falling into his copper coloured hair.  
His voice had now slipped to a near whisper, and he could barely managed more.  
“Do what you will. Cicero had no fight left. In the end, Sithis will judge us both.”

I fell to my knees, the stone painful, but I couldn't care. My resolve had broken, and I with it. The tears flowed freely again, and I could only stare at Cicero and shake my head.

My words shook almost as fiercely as my body, and I strained to get them out.  
“Cicero.... I- I can't. I won't. Astrid, she- she sent me to- to kill you! But I can't. I just can't...”

Cicero laughed hoarsely, which sounded more and more like choking. “Then the Listener will not kill poor Cicero?”

I stroked his copper hair, which was now dripping with his own blood, out of his face, while my own hollow, meaningless laugh filled the room.  
“No, Cicero. No. I won't kill you, precious Keeper.”

“The sweet Listener-” He gasped in pain, holding himself tighter, and I tensed. “-May not have to.”

I blinked a few times until it registered. My voice shrank to a whisper.  
“You're...no. I won't let you.”

“Why not? The Pretender wanted Cicero dead, and the Listener could not do her duty. This way you will not fail your family.”

“I haven't failed.....”

“Oh? You kill helpless people everyday for the Pretender, but when a true test comes, kill the jester, kill the poor Fool of Hearts, you can't. Do you not call that a failure?”

“Cicero....you sound like you want to die.”

“Lonely Cicero only wishes to be free from his madness. There is no other cure.”

That's when I suddenly realized what had happened, why I could not kill Cicero, the Fool of Hearts. My devotion was indeed to my family, to the Brotherhood, but my devotion was further to the Night Mother, and how could I serve the Night Mother, but destroy the one person that still held her dear in every sense of the word. Cicero was right, and Astrid, or the Pretender as he had labeled her had done everything in her power to isolate the two of us, the Listener and the Keeper. How fitting. I understood that my new position threatened her, but this was her family, and I wasn't about to try to take it away from her, but a rule made by terror is quickly overthrown with respect, and whatever respect there was had for Astrid, it was solely based upon the fear of her, even from her own husband.

Realizing that time was running out for him, and that my chances to save him were slim at best, I decided to act quickly.

“You're right, Cicero. There is no other cure for your madness.” Smiling sadly, I looked back down at him. “There's only me.”  
There was a fear that hinted through his eyes, and should any other assassin said those words, his fear would have right, but with me, the fear had no relevance. 

Gently, I grasped his hands, and he held on tighter to his wound out of fear for what I would do. I let out a small amount of an ice spell through, enough to chill his hands so he would let go out of instinct, and I moved them aside. I rolled him onto his back rather than his side, moving to a more advantageous position.

He began to wiggle, trying to move away as best as he could in his injured position, and I glared at him.

“Stay. Still.”

“Listener, Cicero does not know what you mean to do, but surely we can work something out?” He cried out in pain as he tried to move again. “Listener, I am cold. All of poor Cicero is cold, and dark. Cold and dark. Cicero does not wish to go into the Void. Do not send me there. Please.”

I pressed my hands against his chest silently, careful not to look at his face. Tears slipped down his face in terror, ready, but unwilling to meet his end, and I couldn't bear to see it. I conjured all of the energy that I still possessed to create a small ball of golden light that quickly disappeared throughout his body, dispelling a small amount of the cold from the stone room. I poured more of the energy through him until the bleeding had stopped. The wound had closed, and though his breathing was still labored, there was nothing more I could do. My only hope was that it had done enough. Since he had been coughing up blood, he had internal bleeding, and since I dealt mainly with my bow, I had no clue what my spell actually did.

He couldn't sit up, despite his trying, but he could speak without gagging, which was more than he could've done previously.  
“The Listener healed Cicero?” Staring at me with utter confusion, Cicero was tensed, as if he suspected a trick, which I couldn't hold against him considering both of our backgrounds and professions.

I kept quiet for now, merely pulling him into my lap and stroking his hair. Though he was tense, and resistant, he didn't seem to argue, and I continued my ministrations, rubbing his back.

“The Listener has not answered my question. Why has the Listener healed Cicero?”

“Why wouldn't I? You're my family just as much as Astrid. I don't care what she says. Her word is no longer law. Mine is. And I said you deserve to live. So I healed you.” My voice was surprisingly calm for the statement that I had just made, and I scared myself. But I wasn't going to take it back. I meant it, honestly and truly. And that was the worst part. When I had left the Sanctuary, I was completely devoted to Astrid, and there wasn't a thing that I wouldn't have done for her, but here I was denouncing her, and promoting myself as Listener. But why shouldn't I? I was the Listener, and our Unholy Matron had chosen me to hear her voice and speak it out the family, but Astrid wouldn't let me do that. Maybe it was time for her to come down off of her throne. It might do the family some good. 

Cicero had obviously seen the contemplation and hate in my eyes, because a gloved hand brushed a stray hair out of my face before staring at me worried.  
“Is there something wrong with the sweet Listener?”

I shook my head and smiled, remembering where I was, and knocking myself out of my reverie. Looking down there were curious eyes staring back at mine, the normally golden brown eyes bloodshot, red from hours of endless crying, whether out of grief or pain.

“The Listener is mad at the Pretender. Cicero can see it because Cicero hates the Pretender too. She does nothing but slanders poor Mother.”

I sighed in a way that sounded more like a worn out mother than a frustrated assassin.  
“Yes, Cicero, I am mad at Astrid-”  
“The Pretender!”  
“-Astrid, but I can't hate her, and-” I looked at his eager eyes. “-I'm not going to kill her either. Not unless I get direct order from Mother, which she has not given. Now, let this rest, Cicero. No reason to keep this going.”  
I bent over and kissed his forehead, guiding his head to rest on my shoulder.  
“Listener?”  
“Yes, Cicero?”  
“But what will you do when you return to the Pretender?”  
“Cicero.”  
“Surely, the Listener cannot tell the Pretender that lucky Cicero is alive?”

His question stopped me for a minute for two reasons, one more important than the first.  
But, lucky Cicero? That was one I hadn't heard from him before. In his current state, and all the things he's been through, lucky is the last word I would have used to describe Cicero, unless you're describing the fact that he's still alive. Which I supposed he was, seeing as how he escaped death yet again.  
But the second was the more important one. What would I tell Astrid? I couldn't just let her know that Cicero is alive.

“No, Cicero, I can't tell her that. I'll have to lie.”  
“Ooh! You could always tell her that you choked me to death with my own entrails! Won't that be fun!”  
I shook my head.  
“No, Cicero, that doesn't sound very fun. I'll just tell her that I did what had to be done. She'll take it the way she's supposed too, and I'll know the true meaning behind the words. Everything will be fine.”  
“But what about Cicero?”  
“Can we deal with that in the morning?”  
“Surely the Listener isn't tired?”  
“Yes, I am. Now, please, let's drop this, and go to sleep.”

I turned around to a pile of wood behind us, and lit it on fire using a simple spell, then stood up, helping Cicero up, and blasted the blood as well, the sudden heat evaporating it. I looked at Cicero, who just stood there, and for once, seemed to have nothing to say.  
As soon as the stones had cooled down enough to be laid down upon, I did so, staring back up at Cicero, who was still standing there, in the same place he had been when he stood.

“Cicero? Are you going to sleep or not?”  
“Sleep, Listener? Here?”  
“And where else would we sleep, dear Keeper?” I rolled my eyes, getting impatient.  
He slowly, reluctantly made his way over to where I was, got down on his knees and then laid down. He kept a distance from me, choosing to lay on the cold stone. The second his body touched the ground, he was shivering, his body still recovering from the blood loss. I sat up, and reached forward, wrapping my arms around the jester's slim frame.  
His outfit was thin, worn and blood-stained, and I could feel nearly every muscle. I took a deep breath, and tried not to focus on that, rather focusing my strength on dragging him over to me, where it was much warmer.

As I moved him, and pulled him close, he let out a squeak, and buried his face with his hands. Laughing silently, I pulled him closer to me, then moved to his other side, and laid with my back towards the door, moving Cicero so his front was to the fire, and his back was warmed by me.  
“What is the name of Sithis is the Listener doing?!”  
Stroking his copper hair, I whispered into his ear, “Keeping care of my Keeper. Now hush, be warm, and go to sleep.”

Within moments I had fallen sound asleep, my arms still wrapped around Cicero, the world at peace for now, if only for us. The still, quiet air was silent, no tears, blood, anger or grief. And for the first time since Astrid had sent me away from the Sanctuary, I felt at peace.

 

x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x----x

 

The events of the day still worried Cicero, and plagued the back of his mind, nearly chasing away even the jester who had been there for so long. It was all unexpected, he should've died. He was supposed to die, and the sweet, loyal, merciful Listener spared him, healed him, warmed him, kept him. He knew that the Pretender still wished for his blood, would always wish for his blood, as long as they were both alive. Part of him wished to stay away, to keep his distance, if not for his protection, then hers, but where would he run to? The Listener wouldn't harm him, he was safe, if only for now. That much she had promised. So he laid there, awake, but he didn't dare move. No, behind him was his Listener. His long awaited Listener. Safe and sound, beautiful and asleep. The rhythmic sounds of her breathing relaxed him, and he closed his eyes, allowing the world of betrayal, pain, and suffering to fall behind, and succumbed to the fatigue that had plagued him for days.

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys would like a follow-up to this, please let me know. I'm not sure whether to write one or not, so I'm going to let you guys decide!


End file.
